If at First You Don't Succeed
by suspensewriter
Summary: This is my idea of The Miss Parker Method of Stopping Smoking. What's yours? This is dated before she met Thomas.


Did you ever wonder what methods Miss Parker used stopped smoking? A challenge for anyone to write how they figured Miss Parker stopped her habit. Oh and the usual warnings against copyright infringement, etc. apply.

This takes place before Miss Parker meets Thomas.

IF FIRST YOU DON'T SUCCEED, SOMEONE WILL MAKE SURE THAT YOU DO

Every time Miss Parker lit up a cigarette, she saw a vision of Raines, walking by her, dragging his oxygen tank behind him. But until she was in front of the T board, her attempts at quitting had only limited success. She would be all right for a day or so, but then the desire for a smoke would be so overwhelming that she would begin to yell at everyone in sight, demanding they give in to her demands, and being the Chairman's daughter, out came the offered cigarettes. She then would calmly put the lighted cigarette in her mouth, and everything would be all right.

True she tried the usual methods or cold turkey, wearing a Nicotine patch, going to hypnotherapy, but nothing worked and as soon as someone offered her a pack or she skimmed through her parent's old magazines, she started up again. She had started smoking young, a fidgety child who first thought her father, and Doctor Raines so sophisticated with their cigarettes and even her own mother was quick to bring out the ashtrays. And when she was fourteen, and took a cigarette out of Doctor Ranes's pack, no one stopped her. They said she was a sophisticated young lady, now grown up.

After that it was a pack a day to two packs a day, a habit which was further encouraged by the rumor that smokers did not gain weight.

"Yes," she said to herself, "I'm definitely going to throw this pack away." She took the package and flung it in the trashcan.

She starred at it like a long lost lover, and then removed it once again. This was not going to work. She needed a better method. "Sam," she said, handing him the pack of cigarettes, "take this down to the incinerator."

"But it's just one pack."

"Oh, there's more." She pointed to the cupboard where there were cartons of every known brand of cigarette made in the United States and the rest of the world. "You might need a forklift."

It took hours for the cigarettes to be tossed in the incinerator, so much that there was no time to dispose of their victims and so they had to bury them on the Centre grounds.

Miss Parker clapped her hands. "Now for my next problem is to keep from starting up again."

She had already cancelled her discount program, invalidated the credit card offered by her favorite cigarette provider, and realized that the Nicotine patch would not work on her. Even the rule that stopping cigarette smoking would make her gain weight would not work. The Centre had paid good money to have that famous exercise trainer for the stars to show up just for Miss Parker's benefit. After a thorough examination, they concluded that Miss Parker was one of the exceptions to the rule. She could eat a ton of ice cream, cookies, potato chips, and all the fattening food and would not put on an ounce. Miss Parker needed stringent methods to break her habit – even if someone had to die, and she was sure they would.

The next day when the staff entered the Centre, they found that all the cigarette machines were gone. In their place was a yoghurt and a low calorie ice cream machine well if she was going to replace the cigarette machines, it had might be something healthful. Of course, the staff started to grumble until they saw the sign written in bold red letters.

I WILL SHOOT ANYONE WHO WANTS A CIGARETTE OR OFFERS ONE TO ME AFTER PROLONGED TORTURE.

And in small letters_. There is a small exemption. When Raines walks in, please stand in front of the sign_:

Miss Parker.

The next few days were hell for the Centre employees, Twice Miss Parker almost threw an employee who lit up a smoke out the window. Even Raines kept his habit under wraps although he did not sympathize with her one bit.

"She'll come to her senses," she said to his nurse.

But, what was Miss Parker going to do when she went out? After all, in pursuing Jarod, she'd probably run into a drug store or any other place for that matter and the proprietors knew she was not a little girl so they wouldn't keep her from asking for a Lucky Strike.

When she had arose the next morning, and stepped on the scale, she found she had gained two pounds and it wasn't pregnancy. She had checked her purse; there were only two tampons left.

Now here she was in the Centre, and she had to get to the drug store or the 7 Eleven where she would see the cartons of Camel, Marlboro, Lucky Strike, or even some No Name Brand behind the counter or in a machine.

_Ah_, she thought, _perhaps I can make myself appear before I got the habit_. She walked into Sydney's office where the Belgium was writing notes on Jarod, as usual.

"Sydney," she said to the psychiatrist, "is the Centre still working on that new method of youth renewal?"

"They tried, but it was a complete failure."

"What do you mean?"

Sydney opened up the curtain that hid a Centre surveillance screen and turned the channel to one of the lower levels where some of the Centre staff tried to calm down several screaming babies.

She looked pale, seeing a semblance of one of the infants to someone who had worked in the Centre since she was a little girl. That baby had the same birthmark on his right arm, a large irregular shape resembling a pear, but in the grown man, it had shrunk. No one could have that same birthmark. "Oh."

"That's James," said Sydney. "He is a Sweeper or he was." .

"He looks much better that way. Turn off the screen, Sydney."

"So how's it going?" he asked.

She sighed. "Besides the pursuit of Jarod who phoned me last night, thank goodness."

"I thought you hated him for that."

"In this case, no. He kept me from driving over to the 7 Eleven for you know what."

"Ah!" He took out his notebook.

"I don't want anyone to offer me, or give me a carton for a present, but I do need a smo " She could almost imagine it, the lure of the old commercials she had watched since she was a child, seeing the sophisticated man offering the woman a Lucky Strike or a Camels, the smoke ascending to the ceiling.

Everyone in the Centre knew of her willingness to stop, but somehow she couldn't just stay in her office all the time, daring not to go out or down to the recreation room with the fear of seeing an old movie of the Thin Man or the dated magazines with the cigarette commercials. "I'm going out."

"You think it's wise. After all it's only been a few days Usually Jarod leaves us a clue and he hasn't so far, which means his pretend isn't over yet."

"Not that! It's a feminine problem," she snapped, "and I prefer to go alone."

Sydney knew that she meant — without him and Broots. He put his car keys, and gun back in the dresser and reached for the phone. "I'll call Sam – for your protection."

"And is that brute still around, the one that broke the door of the Centre gym?"

"Yes."

"I want him as well as Olaf, Blackie, and Max."

These were the four most brutal sweepers. "Why?"

"Just do it," she said, writing on Sydney's pad and tearing it off. "Give this to them."

"All right, I'll let Sam know."

An hour later, Miss Parker left the building followed by Sam and the others. "Now you know what I wrote," Miss Parker said, "even if I threaten you with death, or take out my gun and start to shoot, you are to do with that note says."

"Yeah," said Blackie as the others sniggered.

"Good."

They drove to the town, and stopped at the Blue Cove drug store. The druggist, the two sales girls, and the customers froze as the beautiful woman with her bodyguard entered.

But no one took them any mind for Miss Parker did not threaten any of them and the guards just stood at the door, occasionally ogling the salesgirls when no one was looking. Meanwhile Miss Parker went along the rows after picking up the package of Playtex, checking the lipsticks, and the face powders. She had her own brand, very expensive and unique, but these cheaper brands were almost as good. Perhaps if she weren't so choosey, and then she saw it.

The cigarette machine!

With her eyes wide in anticipation, she rushed towards it, and hurriedly took out her purse, putting coins in the machine.

Suddenly, two strong arms grabbed her from behind. "No, Miss Parker," said Sam.

"Let me go," she screamed, as he lifted her from behind and drew her back from the machine. Oh she was a sight, kicking and screaming and yelling. "I need a smoke! I have to have one!"

"Okay guys," said Sam to the other sweepers who with brute strength pulled the cigarette machine from the floor after paying the druggist.

Back in the car, Miss Parker calmly put her Playtex in her bag, and waited, smoothing her skirt, and putting a small dap of clear nail polish on her pantyhose.

"So I didn't ask for a cigarette," she said, wondering why the sweepers were still sweating

"Here's your quarters back. I paid for the damage," said Sam, who now turned to whisper to the others.

Miss Parker tried to find out what they were saying, but whenever she turned to look at them, they clammed up Anyway they were probably talking about women, the kind that Miss Parker didn't like, the kind who didn't have to chase a Pretender

Two days later, the urge to smoke became overpowering again. She went down to one of the lower levels to ask some of the staff for a smoke, knowing the men and women there left the Centre building by a separate entrance, However the grapevine had come to there. One of the nurses said it was now Centre policy to not smoke in the presence of Miss Parker. She went back up and ran into one of the newer girls, one on probation, and easily intimidated. "I'd like you to get me a cigarette. I'll give a good word for you."

The girl had gotten an unusual bit of courage. "No,"

"What's going on? I just want one, just one smoke!"

"Sorry, Miss Parker," said the girl, "but you said."

"I don't care what I said! Oh forget it!" She walked into the recreation room, found it empty except for her. "Who in the hell are you?"

The woman was large, blonde, and muscular. "Ya, Miss Parker, I'm Helga, the masseuse."

"My appointment's for Thursday. This's Wednesday."

"Ya Miss Parker, but I wisit family tomorrow."

"Okay Helga," she said and turned on the television set. Her favorite old time TV show was on, with that sophisticated man and woman and since it was one of the actor's birthdays, there were back-to- back episodes and according to the grapevine, there was no sign of Jarod even though Broots was searching through all the computer and phone lines. She could watch the whole series of "_Mr. District Attorney_."

The massage felt wonderful. Helga was so good, pounding with expert hands, over Miss Parker's supple back. Everything was going on well, Miss Parker smelled the aroma of the perfume, closed her eyes, half-listening to the conversation between the hero and the heroine. They were in a café, and in a few seconds later, the two brutal assassins would come in, raise their guns and say, "Well goodbye Mr. District Attorney" and then the show would take a break for a couple of minutes.

The music grew louder. It was time for the commercial. "And now a word from our sponsor."

Miss Parker's eyes were now wide open. The girl in the cigarette package costume was dancing across the stage. _My favorite brand! I need it. I want a smoke_! She tried to reach her hand for the television screen, when suddenly a full force of two hundred and fifty pounds landed on her back.

"Get off of me!" she demanded.

Helga was sitting on her, blocking the view to the television. "No Miss Parker."

"Get off of me!" Miss Parker repeated. Only when the commercial was over, did she get respite.

Every time the cigarette girl started dancing on the screen, Helga would plop on Miss Parker, half squashing her.

Two hours of this was an annoyance, but four hours or eight half-hour shows with a Lucky Strike commercial every fifteen minutes was torture.

Miss Parker didn't feel good. She needed protection from Helga. When her work from the Centre was over, Miss Parker limped home, and soaked in her bathtub.

The next day, Helga phoned her at home and said the family emergency had been resolved, and the Centre told her that Miss Parker could have her regular session.

"I'm quite all right, Helga," said Miss Parker and hung up. As soon as she did, she called the Centre, "I have a doctor's appointment," she said, "I'll be in later in the day."

That gave her enough time to drive to New Jersey and get a pack of Lucky Strikes. There would be no Helga, no burly sweepers to take away the cigarette machine, and no one to shoot her if she took a drag. She was going to be in heaven for just one smoke.

She put her foot on the accelerator, the wind in her hair, not hearing the siren, and the police officer on the motorcycle, asking her to pull over.

"Yes," she said with a yawn, taking out her wallet, "Why don't you big boys find someone else to bother? Do you know who I am?"

"Ya, Miss Parker."

Miss Parker stared. It was the same blonde hair, the same large bulk, the same Swedish accent, but this time, Helga was in a police uniform. Memories of her, almost squashed ran through Miss Parker's brain as the large woman wrote out a ticket.

"Next time, you go the speed limit."

Miss Parker was so shocked that she forgot to thank her and drove off. She knew that the Blue Cove druggist had her picture on every pharmacy list in Delaware and even in the other stores.. One of the janitorial staff had told her with, what she thought, was an evil gleam in his eye. He had learned from someone who had learned from someone which meant since they were not allowed to leave the Centre, one of the staff in the Centre was giving the information even to the underlings.

She crossed from Delaware into New Jersey and finally entered Atlantic City after driving through the smaller towns.

But when she saw the familiar face of Olaf at the convenience store, picking up some batteries, she turned the car down the block and drove until she got out of the neighborhood until she got to a rather upscale neighborhood.

Miss Parker felt at home here, much like she did when she was overseas. It was a neighborhood of out door cafes, of quaint New English houses and there were several cafes, in which she knew they did not have cigarette machines, but cartons behind the counter.

No one would know her here. She packed her car, and looked at the clock on the dashboard. She had just enough time to have a coffee, purchase a carton, take out a pack, (The others would be for emergency in case the stress was too high and she could always get Sydney to hide them for her.)

There was no one at the counter. She poured herself a cup, put the change on the counter, and went to sit down. She sipped the coffee slowly and when finished, she walked to the counter. "Anyone here?" she asked, pressing the bell. "I want a carton of Lucky Strikes."

Suddenly a face popped up from below the counter. "Ya, you want?"

"Helga?" She took one look at the large Swedish woman, remembering her as a police officer and a masseuse. She was going insane!

She drove up the highway, trying to visualize a package of Lucky Strikes, but superseding it was the face of a large blonde Swedish woman. She tried with another brand, but still got the same picture. Now every time she saw in her mind a cigarette, she remembered that heavy woman squashing her.

"Good morning Miss Parker," said Sydney as she entered. "How was the appointment?"

"Very well, Sydney," she walked past him.

"Oh we found Jarod."

"Good, wait until I change in something more predatory."

As soon as she left, Sydney got on the phone. He did not want to do it at first, the father of the three triplets had been a guard at the camp, and his testimony resulted in the conviction of several top ranked Nazis.

Sydney had visited his home after the war when they had moved to Minnesota, met his son, and daughter in law who was pregnant with twins. They were wrong. She had given birth to identical triplets who unfortunately took after their large grandfather in height and girth. They were good cooks, married three hefty Swedish boys, and had eight children between them.

One became a masseuse, one a police officer and one owned a cafeteria, and no one could tell them apart.


End file.
